


profoundest hell

by Nibelung



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe, F/M, Gang Rape, Gen, Mutilation, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Torture, Urination, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2019-09-30 16:39:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17227589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nibelung/pseuds/Nibelung
Summary: A place for me to post Star Wars AU ficlets, mostly related to the 1974 rough draft & 1975 third draft. Tags to be updated if needed.





	1. the terror of this arm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ESB, after the equivalent of Cloud City.

“You got off lightly. Just an arm. Look at me, farmboy.” She waved her cane for emphasis. “I’ve got one eye, a busted leg, a mouthful of metal, and a nose like a spoiled janja fruit. I used to be a princess. Now I look like a monster.”

“No.” He put his arms, one plasteel and one flesh, around her shoulders. “You look like a rebel.”

Then he kissed her, and the cane in her hand clattered to the floor, and soon she realized her black durasteel teeth might be ugly, but they had an unexpected benefit: they were removable.


	2. without hinges, key, or lid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ESB, on an AU Bespin equivalent, Leia's POV.

There were nine of them, taking her three at a time.

The first time one of them stuck his dick down her throat, she’d bitten him. That had earned her a punch from an armored first that broke her nose and left two of her teeth on the floor.

After that she decided she’d let them fuck her if it meant she could still eat solid food afterward.

It went on and on until she had forgotten everything – her rage, her fear, even her shame – and surrendered herself to the waves of mindless pleasure.

_Princess? Hah_ , she thought to herself in a moment of lucidity, while the troopers were switching off. _Whore, more like. I’m glad Father isn’t alive to see this._

And the rape continued.

Then the room blazed with a sudden blue light, and in a matter of seconds nine rapists had become nine freshly dead corpses.

That was unexpected.

Looked like farmboy knew how to swing that saber after all.

But her rescue made her more afraid than she’d been when the stormtroopers were fucking her brains out.

Because Vader’s trap had worked. And because of her, the man she loved, Luke Starkiller, was in mortal danger.


	3. a golden cup in her hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a prison cell, after Yavin IV

“You shouldn’t have done it.”

“You needed the medicine. You were hurt.”

“But—”

“I’d do it again if I had to. A hundred of them rather than ten. I couldn’t bear seeing you in pain like that.”

“But—”

“Because I love you, farmboy. And I’ve seen enough people die. My whole goddamn planet is gone, remember? I don’t have any parents to be ashamed of their royal daughter becoming a royal whore.”

“Leia—”

“You’re OK. That’s what matters. Now come over here. This cell’s cold, and you’re the only one who’s got clothes on now.”

He did.


	4. Feuer brenne, Kessel siede

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Working from the 1974 rough draft.

“That’s all of them.” He gestured with his glowing red lightsaber at the pile of black-armored bodies on the floor of the speeder garage, then shut it off and returned the hilt to his belt.

“But how did they _know_?”

“I can guess.” He pointed at her red shoes, their tips sticking out from below the hem of her coarse woollen robe. The tear in his shirt-sleeve exposed the muscles of Annikin’s tanned arm. She realized she was impressed with his muscles despite herself; her escort might be a cad with no manners, but apparently Jedi training did wonders for one’s physique.

“Scarlet leather. Nobody but royalty wears those on Aquilae. Your robes may look like a peasant’s, but one glimpse of those shoes and you might as well be wearing the Waterstone Crown.”

“But they’re the only pair I have! I _can’t_ get rid of them!”

“Yes, you can. Plenty of peasants don’t wear shoes.”

“But—”

“Take ‘em off. Or this whole trip is for nothing, and we might as well go back to the capital and turn you in for the reward money.”

“The speeder’s broken! I can’t walk the whole way to Gordonton barefoot!”

“If the sand’s too hot, I can carry you.”

She bent down to remove her shoes. “…I can walk.”

“All right. Hold on to those for the moment, though. We can dump them in Carter’s Ravine on the way. Don’t want any troopers finding them here when they search the scene.”

Leia flung the offending footwear at him, and he barely ducked in time despite his Jedi-trained reflexes. “Sure. Be my guest.”

And she flounced out of the garage, biting her lip to keep from giving Annikin the satisfaction of hearing her gasp at the burning heat of the Aquilaean desert sands.


	5. his quietus make

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ROTJ, set on an AU-Coruscant.

From his seat in his throne room in the Palace, the Emperor of the Galaxy could watch through transparisteel windows the battle unfolding in the skies above Had Abaddon; retractable holo-screens set near his throne depicted the Rebel fleet’s desperate battle against two Death Stars and the armed might of the Imperial Navy.

But his gaze was fixed instead on the hilt of the dagger embedded in his chest, and the bloodstain spreading across the breast of his white navy uniform like a Felucian bloodflower.

He tried to call out, to summon his loyal Guards to his aid, but he found his tongue and lips would no longer work his will.

So.

This was it, then.

This was how he was going to die.

“Coated with Kondorian dragon venom. It’s a fast-acting paralytic, a favorite of torturers. Extremely painful. I can tell you from personal experience, _Your Majesty_.”

Ignoring the pain like fire blossoming in his veins, he mustered the effort to raise his head, looking up at the false Guard who spoke to him, standing over his throne, the one had dealt him his death-blow.

The black-robed guard removed his helmet and cast it to one side, revealing the face of a woman with short brown hair… and scarred, empty eye sockets.

_No._

“It’ll take a while for your heart to stop,” said Leia Organa, last Princess of a vaporized world. “Time enough to pay you back for how your men took my eyes.

“Do you remember? They held me down on the floor as you watched, and put them out with a red-hot iron. And then, because that wasn’t enough to satisfy their cruelty, they pissed in the sockets. With their Emperor’s approval.

“You know the old saying: an eye for an eye…”

She smiled, a broken grimace like a row of knives, and the dying Emperor knew his death could not come soon enough.


	6. with a bare bodkin

From his seat in his throne room in the Palace, the Emperor of the Galaxy could watch through transparisteel windows the battle unfolding in the skies above Ton-Muund; retractable holo-screens set beside his throne depicted the Rebel fleet’s desperate battle against three Death Stars and the armed might of the Imperial Navy.

But his gaze was fixed instead on the hilt of the dagger embedded in his chest, and the bloodstain spreading across the tunic of his white navy uniform like a Felucian bloodflower.

He tried to call out, to summon his loyal Guards to his aid, but he found his tongue and lips would no longer obey his will.

So.

This was it, then.

This was how he was going to die.

“Coated with Kondorian dragon venom. It’s a fast-acting paralytic, a favorite of torturers. Extremely painful. I can tell you from personal experience, _Your Majesty_.”

Ignoring the pain like fire blossoming in his veins, he mustered the effort to raise his head, looking up at the false Guard who spoke to him, standing over his throne, the one had dealt him his death-blow.

The red-robed guard removed his helmet and cast it to one side, revealing the face of a woman with short blonde hair… and scarred, empty eye sockets.

_No._

“It’ll take a while for your heart to stop,” said Leia Organa, last Princess of a vaporized world. “Time enough to pay you back for how your men put out my eyes.

“Vader had already had me beaten so badly I lost an eye. But that wasn’t enough for the Empire, was it? Your guards held me down on the floor as you watched, and finished the job with a red-hot iron. And then, because that wasn’t enough to sate their cruelty, they pissed in the sockets. With their Emperor’s approval.

“You know the old saying: an eye for an eye…”

She smiled, a broken grimace like a row of knives, and the dying Emperor knew his death could not come soon enough.


	7. the name of action

From his seat in his throne room in the Palace, the Emperor of the Galaxy could watch through transparisteel windows the battle unfolding in the skies over Jhantor; retractable holo-screens set beside his throne depicted the Rebel fleet’s desperate battle against three Death Stars and the armed might of the Imperial Navy.

But his gaze was fixed instead on the hilt of the dagger embedded in his chest, and the bloodstain spreading across the tunic of his white navy uniform like a Felucian bloodflower.

He tried to call out, to summon his loyal Guards to his aid, but he found his tongue and lips would no longer obey his desires.

So.

This was it, then.

This was the moment of his death.

“Coated with Kondorian dragon venom. It’s a fast-acting paralytic, a favorite of torturers. Extremely painful. I can tell you from personal experience, _Your Majesty_.”

Ignoring the pain like fire blossoming in his veins, he mustered the effort to raise his head, looking up at the false Guard who spoke to him, standing over his throne, the one had dealt him his death-blow.

The scarlet-robed guard removed his helmet and cast it to one side, revealing the face of a woman with short red hair… and dark, empty eye sockets.

_No._

“It’ll take a while for your heart to stop,” said Leia Organa, last Princess of a planet burnt under his rule to ash and dust. “Enough time to pay you back for how your men put out my eyes.

“Vader had already had me beaten so badly I lost an eye. But that wasn’t enough for the Empire. No, your guards held me down on the floor as you watched, and finished the job with a red-hot iron. And then, because that wasn’t enough to satiate their cruelty, they pissed in the sockets. With their Emperor’s approval.

“You know the old saying: an eye for an eye…”

She smiled, a broken grimace like a row of knives, and the dying Emperor knew his death could not come soon enough.


	8. to high Dunsinane Hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another piece inspired by the 1974 rough draft.

To her face, they call her the Masked Queen.

Behind her back, they call her the Whore Queen.

 

When General Vader’s lackeys had held her captive on the Imperial space station – now space dust – orbiting her home planet, her jailors had broadcast a live holo-feed of her torture sessions across the entire planet.

So the entire population of Aquilae got to watch as Leia, their rightful monarch, eldest child of the murdered King Kayos, was brutally tortured and raped repeatedly.

They saw her eyes put out and her ears cut off, and her right arm sheared off above the wrist. They saw her fiery red hair burnt off forever with a fusion cutter, and her nose cut away from her face like a slice of bantha steak.

They saw her captors take her again and again, and heard her cries of mingled pain and pleasure.

She herself could not tell which was which.

 

Eventually, to her great relief, she was rescued by Annikin Starkiller, the handsome dark-haired young Jedi from whom she’d been separated by her capture on Yavin. And he had an unexpected companion in arms: Prince Valorum, late of the Empire’s Sith Knights, who betrayed his order after General Vader took his eye, as punishment for allowing her to escape occupied Aquilae.

She lost her other arm retrieving a belt with the DNA profiles of Aquilae’s top scientists, stolen from her when she was captured. The belt was stored in a booby-trapped locker, and while Annikin and Prince Valorum debated how to disarm the trap, with black-armored stormtroopers drawing ever nearer, she stuck her left arm in and pulled the damn thing out.

By the time she freed the belt, the flesh of her remaining arm was charred and falling off the bone. Annikin had to cut off her arm below the elbow.

Soon enough, Annikin lost his own right arm in a saber duel with Darth Vader. Fortunately, his training as a Jedi warrior served him well: he survived, but Vader did not.

As General Vader bled out on the space station’s deck plates, his aide Kuro gashed open her throat with a lightsaber. It was a treachery he paid for with his life.

Still, she might have suffocated or choked on her own blood, had not Annikin come to her aid with a healing draught he’d been given by the Wookees of Yavin. It turned her skin milk-white, and restored her breath; but it could do nothing for her ruined voice, now a hideous, barely-audible croak.

Now, with Vader’s troops gone and her throne re-established, the one-armed Annikin is her Lord Protector and official consort; Prince Valorum, whose white armor and gleaming eye patch contrast nicely with his dark skin, is her general-in-chief. The two of them sit on either side of her during audiences.

Having two strong men in her life makes her bed much more comfortable at night.

 

Getting dressed is a very different task than it was before the Imperials came.

For one thing, she doesn’t need a mirror.

Now, she wears a pair of cybernetic arms, usually covered by metal bracers and silk or leather gloves. But even the best surgery cannot restore her ruined face.

She will not accept grafts of cloned flesh. It would be far too easy for unscrupulous geneticists to make a duplicate of the whole person rather than just a portion; and then there would be a pretender to deal with. Nor will she let herself be given droid eyes or a cybernetic voice box. She is a queen, and cannot afford to grant hostile spies the opportunity of seeing all she sees or listening to her every word.

So she wears a mask, silver with fine-molded eyes and nose and lips, and a silken headdress atop it to cover her bald head. On high days she swaps this out for a wig of blue beads, made of a precious stone mined from the planet’s Fourth Moon.

A pair of cloth-of-gold panels hanging from a metallic chain at her waist completes her attire.

Since the Wookee healing draught, she has found herself better accustomed to cold temperatures; but on a desert planet like Aquilae, wearing the voluminous robes she grew up with makes her sweat now like a porg in a saucepan.

Hence she wears as little as possible. To hell with the scandal. She’s the Whore Queen, after all.

Besides which, she’s blind, a double amputee, with a face out of a horror holovid. If she wants sensory input, she has to get creative.

And she always hated corsets, anyway.

 

Now dressed, she hurries barefoot down the palace corridor, luxuriating in the feel of the cool marble floor beneath her soles.

Better not be late for the dinner party. Annikin and Valorum are already there; and she’s the guest of honor, after all.

It’s her fifteenth birthday. The cake is strawberry. Her favorite.


	9. a finger of the claw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the 1974 rough draft.

Leia Aquilae was in pain.

One of her eyes was swollen shut; her nose was flattened against one side of her face; two of her front teeth had been knocked out; her back was livid from a flogging session with a vibrowhip; and her thighs ached from the guards having “fun”.

Her arms were fastened above her head, held in restraints dangling from the ceiling, forcing her to stand constantly on tiptoe. By now her arms and calves hurt so badly that she’d have slept with thirty of those Ureallians for a five-minute break.

(She remembered with a blush of pleasure how, at her request, Annikin had taught her that sex could be joyful rather than painful. Unlike her first instructors, who were now very dead by his hand.)

And, to top it all off, she had to pee.

When she’d been first brought aboard the Imperials’ orbital prison complex, her jailors had given her a set of prisoner’s clothes: a white collarless shirt that opened down the front, white trousers that came to just below the knee, black shoes and matching black gaiters.

Considering her only garment when she was captured was a tattered skirt, thanks to the Ureallians’ assault, the prison garb was actually an improvement. The stormtroopers had even replaced the trousers (but not the shirt or shoes) after they were done raping her.

So clothing was available; and the prison rations, though tasteless, were edible enough. And her captors could certainly make time for torturing her every few hours; her wounds were evidence enough of that.

But they couldn’t be bothered to let her out of her chains for five minutes to give her a bathroom break.

By now her bladder was throbbing worse than anything else in her body. _Damn it_ , she thought, _after all I’ve been through, I’m not going to be defeated by my own bladder._

_Or am I?_

_Crap._

Finally she couldn’t hold it any longer; a small rivulet trickled down one leg.

_What the hell._

She let go.

Leia Aquilae, heir to the throne of a conquered planet, pissed herself like a dog.

Her initial urge had been satisfied, but she didn’t stop; instead she kept peeing until her bladder was empty, and that source of discomfort had been dealt with as much as possible.

_In for a credit, in for a crateload. And I’m not the one who has to pick up the laundry in this place._

By the time she was done, her white trousers were soaked with yellow liquid; her equally sodden gaiters stuck clammily to her legs; the entire room stank of ammonia. Stray drops of urine continued to trickle down her legs, further soddening her pants and gaiters as they went, and her bare toes struggled to maintain their grip on the duracrete floor, made slippery by the puddle directly beneath her.

But she had to admit, she felt a hell of a lot better.

If the Empire couldn’t be bothered to give her a fucking toilet, the least they could do was clean up her filth afterward.

When her bowels rumbled, she didn’t even bother trying to hold it in.

_Serves them right_ , she thought to herself with a wicked, gap-toothed grin.


End file.
